


Problematic - Take Two

by Toastiel



Category: Supernatural
Genre: F/M, mentions of BDSM, not-smut, nsfw version, steam
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-04-05
Updated: 2017-04-05
Packaged: 2018-10-14 23:57:34
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 923
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10546542
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Toastiel/pseuds/Toastiel
Summary: Chuck has a problem.-Less Safe for Work Version-





	

He has a serious problem with that color on her lips. 

Just because he’s god, it doesn’t make him innocent, or naive, or impervious to such things. He’s had his share of flings, because he could never refer to anything before her as having been a real relationship. He’s done things that would make Lucifer blush, and he’d do them again without an ounce of guilt. 

If she asked, he’d do anything...has done anything...will do anything. He’s all her’s to do with as she pleases and they both know it.

Doesn’t she know what that color on those lips does to him? 

She’s his sunlight, his warmth, his humanity. She’s everything he wishes he could be and everything he knows he’ll never become. She is perfection, with those deep, soulful brown eyes that always sparkle with a smile even when she’d beyond seething, and that brilliant smile, bright enough to put a star to shame. Her skin reminds him of the finest porcelain, even if he can see all the cracks beneath it from so many years of abuse; her hair reminds him of silk when he runs his fingers through it at night, watching her sleep so peacefully. He never sleeps like that, especially after she gets through with him. He’s too raw, too open and vulnerable and afraid of losing her to even close his eyes. He knows without a doubt, he’ll wake up one morning and she’ll be gone, her scent fading on the sheets like an early morning fog.

The words she whispers in his ear are enough to make him blush, but it’s the things she never says that push him to the edge. It’s the silent prayers in the middle of dinner, the sultry pout of her lips as she takes a sip from her beer, the images she sends to him with a whispered, ‘Dear God, It’s me again,’ like some dirty joke he wishes he didn’t understand. 

She is pure and perfect, and so incredibly sinful that it makes his head spin. 

Especially when she’s wearing that color on her lips. 

It makes him feel things he shouldn’t even be able to feel, but damnit, his vessel is human, and he doesn’t need a soul to understand what lust and passion feel like. It stirs up images of blissful nights and lazy mornings, and it drives him to the very brink of insanity. 

He likes the brink of insanity, though, where he can let his mind wander over every curve she keeps hidden beneath cozy sweaters and yoga pants. He’s pretty sure he shocks her the first time he reverses their mental tete-a-tete, flashing images into her mind of exactly what he’d rather see that color staining. She nearly chokes on her own breath, and he can almost feel the heat of her flushed skin from across the room. 

He knows that she knows how he feels about that color on her lips. 

She does it on purpose, to torture him, to make him crazy. She knows he’ll crack, he’ll give in to whatever she wants, so long as he can take that color off. She’s not so naive and innocent as she appears, and he knows he does her a disservice by painting her as some virgin saint, but the idea that she does it just to get under his skin is more than he can handle most days. He wonders idly just how long he can go without losing it completely, and he shares the thought with her. 

She barely opens her mouth to speak, to ask him for whatever it is that she wants, before he’s there, whispering a yes against her lips and stealing her breath away before she can even utter a sound. He doesn’t pull away until he knows that that color is gone, smeared across his own lips, and she’s panting for air in his arms. 

He walks away then, afraid of where he might take things if he stays a second longer. He doesn’t even know what she wanted, and really, it doesn’t matter, because that color is gone and he can think again. He doesn’t care if he ends up with some scraggly mutt sleeping at the foot of his bed, or if he ends up having to spend date night watching crappy rom-coms in the bunker. All he cares about is seeing that color gone, and getting on with things.

The next day, the color is back and he knows it’s never going to end. At least he prays to himself that it never does. Then she whispers in his ear as she leans across the breakfast bar, and his pancakes almost burn.

“It stays until you beg.”

Fuck, he thinks, letting out a shaky breath as she pulls back, and Sam and Dean enter the kitchen. He’s screwed, in more ways than one, and it’s one of the hottest things he thinks he’s ever seen or heard or felt. 

He knows he has a problem, but so does she, and it’s a problem she’s more than happy to deal with in the dim silence of their bedroom. He can already feel the padded leather straps around his wrists and ankles, the cool air against his overly sensitive skin, the silk of the mask over his eyes, and they both know he’ll spend the entire day thinking about it.

He makes a mental note to buy another tube of that color, because he never wants to see anything else painting those lips again.


End file.
